A/N: This is a story I started long ago after seeing "Dog Tags". I was annoyed at how everyone treated McGee after he was bitten by the dog. I recently unearthed it and decided to finish it. It's not very long, just something I felt like writing. Hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with NCIS.

CHAPTER ONE

Timothy McGee sat at his desk unhappily eyeing the stack of files. He needed to finish checking the paperwork to make sure everything was complete. Normally, he was very efficient when it came to paperwork, but things had been so hectic lately, these had gotten pushed to the back burner. Now, it was time to pay the piper. Absently, he rubbed his right arm. It had begun to ache over the past couple of days for no apparent reason. He opened and closed his fist a couple of times, noting the tingling in his fingers. That was new. He frowned. Well, he probably just strained it or something.

"Having a heart attack, McHypochondriac?" Tim rolled his eyes as he looked up to find Agent Tony Dinozzo grinning at him.

"I'm fine, Tony," snapped Tim yanking one of the files towards him. "Just a pulled muscle."

"Too many hours playing video games, McGeek. Maybe you need to take up weight lifting. Those little controller buttons aren't just gonna push themselves, y'know."

Tim simply grunted, ignoring his partner. As usual. Even if he was in the midst of a heart attack, it was unlikely anyone would believe him. Like Tony, everyone assumed he was a hypochondriac. McGee's jaw tightened. It's not like it was his fault he had bad allergies or got sick on boats.

The elevator door slid open, and Agent Gibbs strode out, coffee cup in hand. He glanced at his agents busy at their desks. Things were slow right now, which was a nice change of pace. His phone rang as he sat at in his chair. Flipping it opened, he listened for a moment then nodded. He turned, an envelope in his hand.

"McGee! Go take these photos down to Abby."

"Right, Boss." Normally, any excuse to go down to Abby's forensics lab was a cause for celebration, but not lately. In fact, for McGee, entering Abby's lab was something akin to venturing deep into the Antarctic. He dreaded the trip.

It had all started a couple of months ago with that stupid dog, Jethro aka Butch.

Butch, a very large German shepherd had attacked McGee in the course of one of their investigations. McGee shot the dog in order to protect himself. Abby, however, was livid when she learned he'd shot the animal despite his protests of self defense. Her Bad McGee! still rang in his ears. She hadn't shown the least concern for his numerous wounds, just that stupid dog. Then, the dog died. They thought he was going to recover, even after Ducky removed a knife tip from his stomach, but the wound became infected, and Jethro had died. Since then, Abby barely tolerated Timothy McGee.

McGee stood outside her lab, the packet of photos clutched in his hands. He could hear her music throbbing in the background. He tilted his head and could just see her lithe form dancing along to the beat. He smiled. Being near her always made him happy. Then, his shoulders slumped. He knew he should be mad at her for treating him so badly, but he couldn't help it. There would always be a warm spot in his heart for Abby Sciuto. With a sigh, he stepped forward as the electronic doors slid open.

Abby spun, her signature grin beaming to greet her latest visitor. It vanished as soon as she saw Tim. Abruptly, she turned away from him, her body stiff. Tim's heart fell with disappointment. For a brief moment there, he thought she had forgiven him.

"Abby, Gibbs asked me to bring these photos to you."

"Put them on the table, McGee." She refused to acknowledge him any further.

Tim set the envelope on the nearest table. "Abs…I.." he stopped as he saw her deliberately put earphones on. McGee's head dropped in defeat. Slowly, he turned and left the way he had come. He would find no welcome here.

"She still not talkin' to you?"

Tony looked at him with sympathy, as McGee returned to his desk.

Tim shook his head, sinking into his chair. He really didn't want to talk about this right now.

"I think she is being very unreasonable," said Ziva looking up from her stack of files. "You did what you had to do. It was not as if you shot the animal for no reason."

Suddenly, Tim was furious. "Obviously animals mean more to Abby than people. Obviously, she wishes I'd let that damn dog rip my throat out." Grabbing his coffee cup, he smashed it on his desk, pieces of ceramics flying everywhere. Tony leaped to his feet and stared in shock at his partner.

"McGee!" Ziva gaped at him, her mouth open.

McGee sprang to his feet, shoving his chair hard against the back of his cubicle. A picture crashed to the floor. McGee ignored it. "I'm going for coffee," he snapped and stalked from the room.

"What was that all about?" asked Tony staring after Tim. "I've never seen McGee that mad."

"Especially not when it involves Abby." Ziva began to pick up pieces of the broken mug.

"Maybe this time she pushed him just a little too." Tony stooped to help.

Ziva shook her head. "I meant what I said earlier. I think Abby is being very unfair to McGee. He only did what he had to do."

McGee found himself outside the NCIS building and began to walk. He rubbed his aching head. He felt troubled. Why had he reacted like that? Ziva had been supporting him and he had a fit. He winced at the sharp pain in his shoulder. He felt like he was falling apart. He inhaled deeply. The cold air had a welcome bite to it. He felt a little calmer. He sighed and looked at his watch. Damn! He'd already been gone half an hour. No doubt Gibbs would be wondering what happened to him. McGee was thankful Gibbs had at least missed witnessing his outburst.

McGee hurried back to the bullpen. Gibbs glanced up as Tim scurried back to his desk, but said nothing. Tony and Ziva must have explained what had happened earlier. Tim did his best to look calm as he passed Gibbs' desk. Tim sighed in relief as his slid into his seat. A new coffee mug sat on the corner of his desk. Tim felt his face grow hot. He ducked his head and quietly slid the stack of folders closer missing the worried glances of his co-workers.

It was late afternoon when Tim came across the very case that had caused him so much grief. They had been positive Petty Officer Hanson was the one involved with drug smuggling, up until they found him apparently killed by his own dog. It was that dog, Butch, that attacked McGee. Later, they discovered another dog handler, Petty Officer Erica Perelli, had killed Hanson then staged the scene to look as if Butch had killed his own handler. She and an accomplice turned out to be the real drug smugglers.

Tim wasn't sure he really wanted to relive that whole case. His arm was aching again where Butch had bitten him. Psychosomatic thought McGee with a shiver as memories of the snarling dog mauling him flooded back. He gave himself a shake. Get over it, McGee. With a sigh, he began to methodically go through the paperwork to make sure it was complete. When he reached the document on the dog's history, he paused, his brow knitted. Something didn't seem quite right. He shuffled through the stack of papers until he found the details the team had documented concerning the dog they'd found with Hanson. Tim's eyes went back and forth between the two sheets comparing the data. Then he froze. There!

There was something off with the identification numbers tattooed inside the dogs' lips. One by one, McGee compared the tattooed digits of the dog, Butch, who had been issued to PO Hanson with Jethro, the dog they had actually collected at the scene. The numbers were similar but definitely not the same. Tim sat back in his chair as he considered this. Did this mean Butch and Jethro were really two different animals? If so, what happened to the original Butch? Did Perelli kill him like she did her own drug sniffing dog so she could substitute it with an attack dog? But why? Where did Jethro come from?

Noting the numbers, McGee turned to his computer and signed onto a government database that kept track of all animals used by the government for whatever purpose. He quickly located Butch's number. All it said was that Butch had been assigned to the Navy's drug enforcement unit. Okay, so far so good. Now, what about the second dog? It took longer to track down that number, but at last McGee found the listing. Jethro apparently had been some kind of research animal. That was weird.

It took another hour, but he finally determined which laboratory to which the dog had been assigned. It was the Pax River Military Bioresearch Center. According to the information McGee was able to pull up, they researched diseases – human, animal, plant, didn't matter. Someone was studying it.

Thoughtfully, he tapped a pencil against his desk. So what was Jethro being used for? Tim was about to pick up his phone, then hesitated. He glanced over at Tony and Ziva, both busy at their desks. Gibbs had gone for more coffee. McGee knew that it probably didn't matter who the dog really was. They had Perelli and her accomplice plus Jethro was dead. But since the dog had bitten him, he had a vested interest in finding out exactly what kind of research that dog was used for. However, he didn't want the others to know what he was doing. They would just laugh, and Tony would claim that definitely proved McGee was a paranoid hypochondriac. No, McGee would just keep this to himself for the time being. If it turned out to be important, he'd tell the others then.

Tim got to the office early the next morning and put in a call to the Pax River Military Bioresearch Center.

"Pax River Bioresearch Center,"came a professional male voice. "How may I help you?"

"Yes, this is Special Agent McGee at NCIS. I'm trying to find out some information on a dog that was supposedly assigned to your facility."

There was a long pause at the other end. "A dog, sir?"

"Yes. I'm trying to find out if a particular dog was ever actually at your facility, and if so, what was it being used for."

Another long pause. "Perhaps I should transfer you to our research animal facility. They would most likely have the information you're looking for." Tim sat waiting impatiently through several repetitions of Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik before a harried sounding voice picked up.

"This is Dr. DeKay."

McGee identified himself once again and began to explain about the dog. "Doctor, we have supposedly one dog with two different identification numbers. The first number belonged to a dog that was assigned to the Navy's drug enforcement task force. A couple of months ago, we picked up an animal we assumed was that same dog. However, yesterday, I discovered there was a discrepancy in the ID numbers. When I looked up the second number, it identified a dog that had been assigned to your facility. So, I'm trying to find out if this dog was ever at your facility, what it was used for, and how did it end up at our crime scene?"

"One of our dogs, Agent McGee?" The man's disbelief was clearly evident. "I can assure you, all of our animals are carefully accounted for. If you can give me the identification number in question, I can check and let you know exactly what happened to the animal."

Tim rattled off the number. Dr. DeKay assured him he'd get back to Tim with the information within a few hours. Tim hung up the phone and rubbed his neck. He must have slept on it wrong. He clenched his hand. The tingling was worse today and his hand felt weak. Strange.

He pushed it from his mind as he returned the never ending stack of files. It was near lunchtime when his phone finally rang. He snatched it up. It was Dr. McKay and he sounded worried.

"Agent McGee, are you absolutely sure about that number you gave me?"

"Yes, sir. There is no question about that number."

DeKay cursed softly. "All right, I need to know. What happened to that dog?"

"So, he was in your lab?"

"Please, Agent McGee. What happened to that dog? This is extremely important!"

McGee frowned, a knot beginning to form in his stomach. "It's dead."

He heard a relieved sigh. "Thank God, for that." There was a pause. "Did the dog…bite anyone? Or come into close contact with anyone?"

The knot grew tighter. "Yes…"

There was a longer pause. "Someone was actually bitten, or did they just come into contact with him? This is important, Agent McGee."

"Both." McGee fought down his rising impatience.

"You need to find whoever came in contact with that dog immediately! You said this was two months ago? Damn. It's probably too late."

McGee's heart was racing now. "Dr. DeKay! Please! What is going on?"

DeKay's was speaking more rapidly now "Agent McGee, that dog was here. He was supposed to have been destroyed two months ago, yet there is no record of it actually occurring. I have no idea why. We're looking into it. But it's vitally important we get in touch with anyone that might have had direct contact with the dog."

McGee's anxiety was headed through the roof. "What was the dog being used for?" McGee practically shouted this into the phone.

"Rabies research. The dog was infected with rabies."